BeBop A Lula
by BeatleLOVE
Summary: While performing at the Kaiserkeller, the boys meet a rival band and things quickly start to heat up.  Language, sexual themes, drugs, alcohol.  Rating might change later on.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Yeah, yeah, yeah. 'M startin' another story..._again._ I know, I know! But I couldn't help it! This one's just been _dying_ to be written and it's different from my other ones!**

**By the by, "peng" is London slang for "hot." ;D**

**Title: **Be-Bop A Lula**  
>Chapter: <strong>1**  
>Author: <strong>musicNanimefreak aka BeatleLOVE aka maccamandy**  
>Rating: <strong>PG-13**  
>Pairing: <strong>Undefined (for now)**  
>Warnings: <strong>swearing**  
>Disclaimer:<strong> I don't own The Beatles, Rory Storm and the Hurricanes, or any of the songs or clubs mentioned in this fic. Hell, if I did, dya think I'd be _writing_ about it? Hell no! I only own The Starbyrds and a few random strangers. You all are lucky that's it *evil smile*

**...  
><strong>

**October 1960**

"Ey, she's pretty fit," John gestured through the thick haze of cigarette smoke to a tall, scantily clad blonde.

"Eh," Pete grumbled. "Prolly doesn' speak a lick o' proper English…fuckin' Germans."

"Fuckin' Germans? Well tha's precisely wha' I intend ta do." John shot the aggravated drummer a cheeky wink, elbowing an impish-looking boy next to him. "C'mon, Paulie, le's give 'er a pull. 'S not like we'll be findin' any 'proper English'-speakin' birds 'round 'ere. Carn't be picky, I say."

A thin twig of a lad leant against the wall, taking another long drag of his cigarette. "Ah, lay off it, John. We gotta ge' back on stage soon, anyways. 'Ye don even 'ave time fer a shag."

An evil smile crept across the older one's face, matching the devious glimmer in his eyes. "Well, lookie 'ere, The _virgin__'__s_ speakin' up now, isn' 'e? No time fer a shag, 'e says. Ain't ya ever 'eard o' a quickie, Georgie?" Smoke curled past his lips as he blew it in the boy's face, making him sputter in discontempt.

"Oh, lay off 'im, John." Paul blew the smoke straight back, earning himself a smirk. "'E's only seventeen. An' 'e's righ', ya know."

John rolled his eyes and turned his back on them. "Fine," he called over his shoulder. "I'll jus' go an' get 'er meself."

"It's not physically _possible_ fer 'im ta 'ave a quickie," Paul muttered under his breath. "He always takes so damn long… I swear, if he's missin' when we gotta go back on, I'll cripple 'im. 'E shoulda gone lookin fer a bird ages ago." He took an irritated drag on his ciggie, his mind vaguely registering that Pete'd disappeared again. He was always leaving, but Paul really didn't give two shits. He figured they were better off without him.

The sound of voices and the clanking of instrument cases drifted down the slim hallway as four girls rounded the corner, chattering away so quickly, it took Paul a second or two to realise they were speaking English. As they loomed closer, their conversation became easier to understand. He quickly elbowed George and whispered, "Ey, take a look a' the talent."

The younger of the two quickly perked up at the sight of them. "Wonder who's cases they're carryin'?"

"Dunno," Paul shrugged, a devious smirk tugging at his full lips. "Wan' find out?"

"Of course." The two eyed the girls carefully. "John's missin' out."

"More fer ourselves." He saw Paul wink at one, pretty with long brown hair and a guitar in hand. Figures he'd pick the tallest of the bunch.

"Ey, dya know who's on 'fore us?" she asked the girl next to her, a brunette with bright green eyes and a bob.

"Isn't it Rory's band?" she replied, getting a tighter grip on her guitar. "Ya know, the guy with tha' stutter?"

"Nah, they're after us, I think."

"Aren't they called the Tornadoes or somethin'?" another asked, one George couldn't help but notice reminded him of Rory's drummer.

"The Hurricanes," Paul swiftly elbowed himself into the conversation. "Rory Storm an' the Hurricanes. "

Four pairs of eyes locked on him, looking him over just as he'd done to them. "An' who're you?" the one he winked at asked. "You two look awful young ta be in 'Amburg."

Paul's already girlishly high eyebrows shot up even further, giving him the look of a paranoid deer-in-headlights on speed. "Paul," he replied after a short pause. "Paul McCartney. An' 'm plently old 'nough, ta."

George gave them a short half-wave, fully aware that he was indeed too young to legally be performing in clubs and whatnot. But, hey, who gave a damn besides those fuckin' cops? "George Harrison," he mumbled sheepishly.

A petite blonde, the only one that he hadn't heard speak yet, giggled quietly. "What'd 'e say? Did 'e say 'is name was _Joj_?"

"_Ge-or-ge_." He carefully sounded out each syllable as if he were speaking to a second year, suddenly self-conscious of his heavy accent.

"Oh, so yer name's _George_," the tall one said. "Tha's prolly one o' the thickes' Scouse accents I eva' seen." She paused, looking at them less scrutinizingly and more curiously than before. "You two look awful familiar, ya know. Aren't ya in that insect-band or whateva'?"

Paul nearly chocked on the remnants of his ciggie. "_The __Beatles_," he corrected, coughing up ash.

"Oh, whateva', I was close," she shrugged indifferently. "The Beatles…" she let the vaguely familiar name roll off her tongue a few times. "Ey, _yer_ the band ahead of us!"

"Uh, yeah, I guess…" Paul absentmindedly scratched the back of his head, hoping for a change in conversation and quickly glanced around for John; he'd be good with birds like these.

"Isn' 'e yer's?" Green-eyes asked, pointing straight at the person he'd hoped to find. John had, surprisingly, gotten the bird to stay and was now making crude hand gestures to explain what he intended to do to the poor girl.

"Sadly," he sighed, exasperated. "So you gurls have names, I'd suppose?"

"Yea', we do," the cheeky one grinned. "'M Maddy an' this 'ere's Kat," she gestured to the green-eyed girl, "Leah," the quiet blonde, "and Sadie," the one with large blue eyes. The two lads nodded to each as they said a quick hello. "We're called The Starbyrds."

"With a 'y,'" Kat smiled. "Looks betta', I'd say."

"Yeah, I'd reckon," George grinned back, finally starting to grow comfortable talking.

"So where's you four stayin'?" Paul asked, an impudent grin plastered on his boyish face.

Sadie leered smugly. "Above the Top Ten."

George's thick eyebrows (erm, well.._eyebrow_) shot up in question. "But don' ya gotta be an act ta get ta stay there? One o' the best in 'Amburg?"

"Wot, ye don believe us?" Kat rested her free hand hand on her hip, as if silently begging for him to argue.

George held his hands up innocently in front of him. "No, 'm jus' surprised, is all. I don think I've eva' 'eard of ye." _Or __**any **__girl __bands __in __Hamburg, __really._

"Really?" Maddy looked at him incredulously. "We may be new, but we're quite popular 'ere…" Her train of thought was quickly intterupted by a frustrated and newly rejected John, who spotted the four girls chatting up his mates.

"Wot's this?" he stalked over, pissed that they'd found birds without him.

The girls turned to face him, eyeing him curiously. Maddy looked at him with distain more than anything, and she asked, "Wot's it ta you?"

John looked to George and Paul, eyebrow cocked. "Well, this one's got quite a mouth on 'er, doesn' she? Feisty." He sized up each of them, his signature impertinently bold sneer gracing his features. "Tell me," he purred at the four. "Wot's all yer names?"

"None o' yer business," Kat snapped, sending hm an icy glare. "'S not like you'll remember 'em anyways."

"Oi, do all o' ye have such a snappy tongue?" He clicked his own disapprovingly. "'S not nice ta be so cold ta someone tryin' ta be all hospitible-like. Rude, ya know."

"Oh, bugger off, John," Paul placed a hand on his shoulder. "Quit botherin' 'em. They'd play nice if ye weren't such a biggot a' times, ya arse."

Sadie smirked at the bassist's words. "Yeah, really. All ya gotta do is be a _gentle_man."

Leah, looking up at them innocently, spoke up. "'S not like we bite or anythin'. We really don'."

"Not tha' 'ard, anyways." A wicked gleam caught in Maddy's eyes as she and Sadie exchanged smiles of the devilish kind.

"Oh, shaddup 'bout tha'," Kat tiredly rolled her eyes. "Yer a buncha 'orny li'l teenagers, tha's wot ye are."

"'Ey!" Sadie testified. "We're older than _you_!"

"Yeah! Tha's not fair ta say, Katty!" Maddie gave her her best pout and puppy eyes. "Yer jus' a kid."

"_Me?_ A _kid?_" scoffed Kat. "'M more mature than either o' ya combined!"

All three boys watched curiously, apparently forgotten in the girl's tame barney. It was funny, really. They kinda reminded them of themselves in ways, especially that evil look those two had shared. George had seen that look on John and Paul's faces plenty of times, usually before tormenting some poor bird or one of their mates. He'd learned to stay away from them when they got like that the hard way.

"Ey, lads!"

All pairs of eyes focused on the scrawny figure approaching them when John's face broke out into a huge grin. "Ey, Stu! C'mere an' meet the talent."

"What'd ya catch this time, Lennon?" He smiled broadly at his best mate, choosing not to notice the eye roll Paul gave him.

"I think they're a fine catch, if I do say so meself." John waggled his eyebrows in the girls' direction, pointedly being ignored by the small group.

Sadie let out a low whistle when they could see past the boys enough to catch a glance at this new personality. "Damn," Kat agreed, nodding slowly. He might've been the smallest of the guys, but _damn_ he looked good. Leah's cheeks flushed slightly and Maddy eyed him appreciatively. Rolling his eyes, Paul cleared his throat loud enough for just the girls to hear.

"'E's taken, ya know."

"Aw, but tha's no fun…" Sadie pouted dejectedly.

"I don care," Maddy purred quietly. "He's damn peng…"

"Oh, shut it. Yer gonna drool all ova' the floor if ya don' shut yer traps soon."

Kat raised a brow, poking his arm accusingly. "Oh, don' go gettin' all jealous an' crap."

He scoffed, insulted. "'M not jealous!"

George snorted quietly. "Yea ye are, Paulie. Admit it."

"Ah, sod off. Go bugger someone else if yer gonna be like tha'." His arms crossed over his chest like a child's, pouting slightly.

"Aw, is Princess Paulie getting' sour again?" John noted, sparing them a glance as he just realised they were having a conversation without him.

"You'd shut yer mouth if ya knew wha' was good fer ya, Lennon," he snapped irritably.

"When has John _ever_ known wha' was good for 'im?" Stu laughed, causing four very distracted girls to mentally melt into little puddles of adoration goo.

The bassist nodded slightly in reluctant agreement. _Goddamn __Sutcliffe__…_ He irritably ran a hand through his greasy hair and cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. "We goin' on stage now?"

Stu glanced at him quickly and nodded. "Yea, tha's why I came ta getcha. Pete's already backstage."

"Well, le's go then! No use jus' standin' ere, waitin' fer the grass ta grow!" John threw his arm around Stu's slim shoulders and they started for the door, John casting the girls a wink before disappearing inside. "Watch me, okay?"

Paul rolled his eyes yet again and gave them a small wave. "We'll see ya afta', 'kay?" When you gals are done."

They nodded in reply, wishing them luck as they watched the two follow their lead singer backstage.

"'Ey, George?" Paul nudged his arm in the dim lighting.

"Yea, mate?"

"Ya got any more Prellies? 'S gonna be a long night by the looks o' it."

**...**

**A/N: Read and review, my loves! PLEASE~ You just might get ta rape Stu ;D**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Be-Bop A Lula**  
>Chapter:<strong> 2**  
>Author:<strong> musicNanimefreak aka BeatleLOVE aka maccamandy**  
>Rating:<strong> PG-13**  
>Pairing:<strong> Undefined (for now)**  
>Warnings:<strong> swearing**  
>Disclaimer:<strong> Nothing is mine except for Maddy, Sadie, Kat, and Leah, and a few spare miscellaneous characters.**  
><strong>

**A/N: **"Bizzies" is common Liverpool slang term for the police. It was invented as the police were always too "busy" to help. An alternative explanation of the term is that the police are seen as "busy-bodies" i.e. that they ask too many questions.

(Ta to Wiki for that wonderful explanation~)

**…**

Maybe he'd had one too many Prellies that night. Looking back, he didn't remember much. Nothing but a flurry of bright colours and a few select moments, like John stumbling over the lyrics and Stu's constant jumble of notes that he called a pathetic excuse for a bass line. And yelling. Well, at least it'd seemed like yelling to him. He'd constantly been scolding and chiding them onstage, shooting them death glares whenever he got the chance. And girls. Lots of screaming girls. So, basically a standard night for them, really. Nothing special or out of the ordinary.

He'd tried catching a glimpse of those birds from before, the feisty ones with the guitars, but the smoke and crowd was too thick to see through learly. And the dizzying combination of several Preludin mixed with a few pints of beer might have helped with that as well. "Oh, well…" he mumbled to himself, practically wrestling his way to the barstool next to John. The older man quickly glanced in his general direction, offering a grunt to show he had, in fact, bothered to acknowledge Paul's existence as he sipped from what appeared to be his third or fourth tankard. "Tryin' ta get pissed already, ey Johnny? Isn' it a li'l early fer ya?" Paul smirked cheekily, elbowing his bandmate.

"No, ya queer." John rolled his eyes, shoving his elbow into Paul's side in retaliation. "'M jus' enjoyin' meself, is all." He watched as John's eyes quickly scanned the surrounding area, absentmindedly sipping at his drink. "Ey, she looks awful nice, doncha think?" he grinned, scoping out another bird.

"I though' ye were gonna go afta' one o' the gals from earlier." He cocked a brow at his best mate, fiddling with his leather jacket's sleeves. "Ya seemed quite taken with 'em. Though' ye were gonna try an' lay one o' 'em after their gig." His glass casually raised to his lips, eyes darting around while he searched for them yet again. He figured they were setting up by now, but still his curiosity overcame him. He wanted another look at those four new faces.

"Eh," John mumbled into his tankard as he quickly downed the rest of the bitter golden liquid. "Seemed a bit difficult, ya know wha' I mean? Too much effort."

"Lazy arse," he rolled his eyes. John could be such a sloth when he wanted to be.

"Wha', are ye gonna try?" John turned to cock an eyebrow at his fellow guitarist, taking the new glass the bartender handed him. "Which one, ey? The blonde?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. I really don' care, honestly. 'M jus' sick o' all these German birds, ya know? All the same." He paused to take a drag from his newly lit cigarette, watching the smoke gracefully curl from past his plump lips. "Whicheva' one's easiest, I suppose…"

"Ey, ya carn't ge' mad a' me an' start accusin' me of bein' the lazy one, then!" he playfully nudged the younger boy, grinning over at him.

"Oh, shaddup, Lennon."

"Ey, lads!" They both looked up to find a beaming George walking over to them, twisting through the throngs of people. "Busy night, ey?"

"Yea, ye could say tha' again." John grimaced. "I could barely find me way ova' 'ere! 'M amazed the tap 'asn't run out yet, with all these bloody arseholes."

"Ah, shut it." Paul shoved him just enough to make him teeter slightly on his seat. "The more, the betta', I say. More publicity, ya know."

"Oh, whateva', Paulie. Doesn' matta' anyways—"

"Cor, both o' ya jus' shu' yer traps!" Their wrists were soon being yanked by the youngest in a failed attempt to be dragged somewhere or another.

"God, wha's got yer knickers in such a twist, Georgie Porgie? Di' the Bizzies finally come ta round us up or somethin'?"

"No, ya dunce!" He frustratedly stomped on the rhythm guitarist's boot, earning a short yelp from John.

"Well, wha' is it, then, Geo?" Paul's eyes were wide with curiosity.

"Those girls are jus' startin' up now. Though' ya migh' wanna watch 'em." He pointed back over his shoulder toward the stage behind him, where it seemed a small crowd was gathering.

"Oh?" He couldn't help the excited gleam flash in his eyes; he was eager to see how well (or shoddy) they performed.

John aggrivatedly rubbed his barely injured foot as he shot the skinny lead guitarist a glare. "Well, why didn' ya say tha' _before_ ya nearly pinched my toes off?"

"Cos." George rolled his eyes irritably. "Ye were bein such an arse, as usual."

"I was no—"

"Oh, jus' can it, Johnny. I wanna see em play." Paul quickly left his uncomfortable barstool to find a closer table to the set. He didn't see any point in checking if they were following him or not; he was going to watch either way. After a couple seconds, he found a table to lean against and was quickly followed by his closest mates who decided to stand on either side of him, each with a fag and pint in hand.

"'Ere comes Ringo," George gestured over to their left to a small-ish man with drumsticks sticking out of his suit pockets.

…

"'Ey, Rich," John nodded to the Hurricanes' drummer.

"'Ey," he waved, joining them at their table. "Wot're ye three doin', anyways? Aren' ya done fer the night?"

"Yea, but there's this new band we jus' met, ya see," Paul nodded toward the stage at the act now setting up. "Call themselves The Starbyrds."

Ringo furrowed his brow slightly, examining the latest act. "Starbyrds, hm? They any good?"

"We dunno," George shrugged, taking a sip of his beer. "Jus' met 'em, like we said."

"Ah…" His eyes aimlessly wandered from face to face on the stage, a little intrigued at an all-girl band in Hamburg, usually the only birds a guy could find were groupies or cheap German sellouts, looking for an easy lay. That worked fine for most of the guys, but it was quite a change for a lad coming from little Liverpool. Most got used to it. The sex, the drugs, the alcohol all present in the thick air. Rich found it a quite difficult to imagine these four girls holding out in such a corrupt place. They seemed like such daintly little things, really. He was so lost in his cloud of thoughts, he missed their introduction and jolted back to earth as the song started. "_Never know how much I love you, you never know how much I care…When you put your arms around me, I get a feeling that I just can't bear…You give me fever…_" It sounded familiar, at least. "_…when you kiss me, fever when you hold me tight…Fever in the morning, fever all through the night…" _He'd probably heard it on the radio or something, he figured…

…

Paul blinked a few times in slight shock. Hell, they were good. No…they were bloody fabulous. Their harmonies blended perfectly into the music, the beat was steady. He found it quite bold to start with such a slow song, but he couldn't argue it wasn't a perfect choice. He smirked to himself when he was almost certain that Maddy girl'd given him a wink.

"_Bless my soul I love you, take this heart away…Take these arms I never use them…And just believe what my lips have to say…You give me fever, when you kiss me, fever when you hold me tight…Fever in the morning, fever all through the night…_"

…

Maddy grinned and shot the crowd a wink, practically purring the lyrics into the microphone. "_Listen to me baby, hear every word I say…No one can love you the way I do…Because they don't know how to love you my way…_" As soon as she'd heard the song on the radio all those years ago, she'd known it was perfect for them to sing. "_You give me fever, when you kiss me, fever when you hold me tight…Fever in the morning, fever all through the night…_"

Oh, how she loved driving the crowd crazy.

…

John couldn't help it. Their chemistry onstage intrigued him, they were like a perfectly solved puzzle. Why didn't _his_ band sound like that? They were fuckin' shit compared to those girls. Sure, he and his boys had made the audience beg for more tons of times, made them dance 'til they collapsed, had them chanting their name. But no, they were a bloody shoddy mess compared to these birds. Their performance was so tight, well-practiced. They made The Beatles look like a grotty heap. He hated it.

"_The sun lights up the daytime, the moon lights up at night…_" she sang. "_My eyes light up when you call my name…Because I know you're gonna treat me right…You give me fever, when you kiss me, fever when you hold me tight…Fever in the morning, fever all through the night…_"

John's eyes hunted the stage, looking for that secret something that made them so damn _good_. They're instruments weren't any better than what he or Paul or any or the other guys owned, cheap pieces of shit. Maybe it was because they all seemed so into it, so enthusiastic. And it wasn't that fake, hyped-up-on-Prellies enthusiasm, either. Genuine euphoria just to play on a crappy stage like the Kaiserkeller's. He shook his head, confusion lining his face. They were used to performing at high-end clubs like the Top Ten, not crappy little gigs at half-assed shitholes. Now he understood why he and the lads were stuck sleeping in filthy, freezing, shitty run-down cinema's storerooms like the Bambi Kino. He just couldn't figure them out, and it bugged the hell out of him. He'd figure them out eventually. He was determined.

"_You give me fever…You give me fever…Oh yeah…Fever all through the night…_"


End file.
